Appetizers
by Farky-fark and the Munky Bunch
Summary: I'm really sorry about the title, it's a lame joke. These are one-shots about each of the Daedric Princes that I'm writing as a sort of set-up for a dinner party with all of them. Get it? Appetizers before a dinner party...? See, told you it was lame.
1. Azura

**A/N: **Well, I'm back! This will be the second thing I've posted so far, but definitely not the last; I hope at least a few of you are happy to hear that. So…the inspiration for this actually came from a school project I had to do a few years ago on Greek Mythology. I know, but this will make sense in a minute. I had to do a dialogue between two people so I ended up writing a conversation between Zeus and Hades over dinner. My sister (**StarscreamII**) thought it was hilarious, so just about a month ago, I got the idea to write a dinner party with all of the Daedric Princes. I started writing it, but found that descriptions of the Princes in between the dialogue was kind of killing the humor, so that's where this comes in. I decided to instead, write 17 one-shots first, one dedicated to each of them so that my readers could get acquainted with my characterization of them before they read the main piece. Just a heads up, my idea of how they look and act could be _totally_ different from the next person's, so don't hate me for it. I'm just writing them how I see them in my mind. With that being said, I hope you enjoy these and if you wish to out of the kindness of your heart, _please _review! I don't mind constructive criticism. And they won't all be as short as this one. Some are long, some are short and some are in between. Oh! Also, to those of you who may not know, the Daedric Princes/Lords, aren't actually men or women, per se. They aren't really...anything, so the sex they are portrayed as in my stories is only what is most commonly accepted for each, or what I decided I wanted them to be.

**Disclaimer: **Nothing is mine. It all belongs to Bethesda Softworks and the other makers who brought us the wonderfully addictive Elder Scrolls games that suck up all our time, not to mention our lives.

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><p>The Queen of the Night Sky stood alone on a high hill, her tall, thin figure silhouetted by the full moon behind her. The sky was in its last stages of dusk, the light pinks, flaming oranges, and pale yellows fading into the deep crimsons and royal purples it now displayed. To mortals, the solitary figure seemed to be part of the sunset. She had skin the color of ivory, pale lavender eyes, flowing strawberry blonde hair and sharp features that gave her an air of calm, calculating superiority. Her dress was long and blended together in a collage of all the colors of both dawn and dusk, reaching all the way out to her outstretched arms, appearing from the view of any traveler passing below to be holding the sun and moon in each of her open palms. Her head was leaned back, her eyes closed, the evening breeze blowing the thin strands of her hair across her face.<p>

She was Azura; Daedric Prince of Dusk and Dawn; Queen of the Night Sky; Mother of the Rose; Anticipation of Sotha Sil. The Queen of Dusk and Dawn, ruling over her sphere not only from Moonshadow, but from Nirn: the realm of the mortals.

With a sweep of her hand, the last traces of dusk gave way to night and the stars above her twinkled enchantingly. Even those who didn't worship her, or even believe in her presence over them, could see the glory that she brought to the mortals some of her fellow Princes thought to be tedious and unworthy of what they were given. The hand that still remained in the air seemed to cradle the moon, and with careful, fluid movements, she cupped it gracefully with thin fingers and set it in its place beside the stars before lowering her arm to her side. She raised her head and opened her eyes, a small smile gracing her beautiful features. Noiselessly, she lowered her heels to the ground, returning to the earth both physically and mentally.

The stars winked from their spots in the night sky and when they shone again, their mistress was gone, not to be seen by mortal eyes until the sun once again began to shine above the horizon, lifted on golden rays of light that if seen from the right angle, appeared as long, slender fingers placing it in its rightful spot.


	2. Mephala

**A/N: **After a good deal of thought regarding whose chapter I would post next, I decided on Mephala's, for several reasons. One, it shows that not all of these will be the same length as Azura's was. Two, it shows that the style between the various chapters will differ. While several are in the same general style as chapter 1 was, others will be more like this one, with dialogue and more of a story to them, and others still may be like nothing I've ever done before. I only have six finished as of now, including this one and chapter one, so the other eleven are wide open to possibilities. For this chapter, I am going with the possibly not well circulated belief that Hermaeus Mora is the sibling of Mephala, so if any of you didn't know about that, now you do! And just as a reminder, because of their sexlessness (just made up that word), brother and sister are relative terms. First off, I would like to thank the following for either choosing this story as a favorite or following it, or both: **Aniphine**, **Lady Epicness**, and **Xreeper16.** You guys rock! I really hope everyone likes this, because it actually got a better reception with the first chapter than I had expected, but it'd be kind of nice to have reviews from some people besides my sister...(**StarscreamII)** Anyway, on to the part you guys really care about, because honestly, nobody clicked on my story to read the author's note. The good part's just past the disclaimer.

**Disclaimer: **It's Bethesda's, not mine.

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><p>It was within Apocrypha that Mephala was contained, or rather, imprisoned, staring at the endless amount of books as she pouted. She absentmindedly wondered if any of them would be worth reading. Probably not. Her brother would have books on ancient scholars and long dead mortals that no one cared about anymore. Nothing with juicy romance or bloody and gruesome murders. That was what the Dunmer thought of her in regard to anyway; sex, lies, and murder. They were pretty accurate, so she never bothered to argue. After all, to mortals, her sphere was unknown, so they were on their own for what they decided she should be associated with.<p>

One of the library's resident ghosts shuffled by without a sound, searching the rows of blank covers for the knowledge they all hopelessly seeked. Moving her feet so as not to hinder the poor soul's movement, she sighed and raised herself from the chair in which she had been residing. Her long, thin fingers ran along the rows of books, until she reached a mirror in between two of the shelves and inspected her reflection. She was average height, and slender, with curves that were, as her brother put it, "painfully evident" beneath the thin fabric of her revealing dress; a long, black gown adorned with a silver spider web design. Her skin was light grey, her hair black, her slanted eyes were red, and her full lips were the color of blood. Men found her…dangerously seductive; an accurate statement considering most of the mortal men she slept with ended up dying by her hands. But, to make matters worse, it wasn't a mortal she'd been caught with this time. It was Sanguine. Hermaeus Mora, being the lord of the sphere of the scrying of the tides of Fate, had already seen this coming, and was waiting patiently in the other prince's chambers when they'd entered.

And that was why she was stuck where she was now. Hermaeus, after calmly informing them of all the rules they were breaking (rules he had probably made up on the spot), hauled his disappointment of a sister off to his realm of Oblivion, where she was now sentenced to a term of three years. That wasn't long considering they were immortal, but she couldn't help thinking of all the mortals' lives she could have twisted and played with during that time.

A door opened somewhere relatively far off and she tore herself away from her reflection, going back to the chair where she was to resume her pouting. She heard the wet, slimy sound of her brother's movement across the floor and shuddered, yet again wishing he could've chosen a human form. A beautiful woman like her could hardly stand being related to that…thing. He came around the corner and leaned his gooey green mass against the nearest bookshelf, casting a disapproving look in her direction.

"Hermaeus Mora…welcome back brother. I'm sure you've enjoyed rubbing your freedom in my face."

He shook one of his crab-like claws at her. "I was doing nothing of the sort. It's your own fault you're here."

She raised her eyebrows and looked up from her fingernails. "Yes, I suppose it is. But it was worth it." She gave him a smug smile and just out of spite, put her legs over the arm of the chair, causing her dress to fall away and reveal her bare thigh.

His face—if you could even call it that—darkened and he turned away. "This was your choice, Mephala. As much as I hate to do this to you, it may be what you need to see the error of your ways." Without waiting for a reply, he left again, leaving a trail of sticky green liquid in his wake.

Mephala closed her eyes and let out a long sigh. Three whole years…


	3. Jyggalag

**A/N: **Let me be the first to formally welcome you to chapter three. I hope your ride was enjoyable and I apologize profusely for the lack of complimentary peanuts. And pretzels for those of you with peanut allergies. This chapter's shorter again; sorry about that. :( Mephala's is the longest that I've written so far, but I'll try and make some of the others that length too. I really shouldn't be spoiling you guys by posting another chapter this soon, but I got my first review last night, so I'm rewarding you. :) Tons of thanks to **Lady Epicness **who was my first official reviewer! You totally made my day and I appreciate your support for this story. I assure you, you are not the only one who doesn't want this to fail. I have hope for its success too. :) You made me smile and your feedback (as I said in my profile) fed my soul. You are amazing! And that is why this chapter is dedicated to you. I hope you like it!

**Disclaimer: **It's still not mine. And I'm not planning on donning a ski mask and robbing it for myself, so that will remain true for a while yet.

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><p>Jyggalag sighed. His life was a disappointment. He only had so long to try and restore order to his realm before the curse kicked in and that blathering idiot came back. Sheogorath. He was a joke. While Jyggalag had no doubt that some of his fellow princes, namely Sanguine, Clavicus Vile, Hircine and Mehrunes Dagon, never ceased to be entertained by his incompetent alter ego, even thinking of the name made him want to retch. At least Peryite was there to try and help retain some order between the other princes during his absences, not to mention the Breton Sheogorath had somehow landed as his advisor. Haskill; that was it. The poor man tried the best he could to maintain some semblance of sanity in the Shivering Isles. But after all the time it took to get everything all nice and orderly, with a schedule, and a realm full of delightfully sane inhabitants, <em>he<em> came along and ruined everything! His beautiful land was thrust headfirst into utter insanity. If only his selfish and fearful brethren hadn't grown jealous of his superior power, he would never have been in this situation. He would _almost_ reduce himself to getting on his knees and begging his fellow Daedra to take away the Prince of Madness. Almost. Someday, he would rid himself of his other half, for good, and then his rise to power would be something that would make even the most powerful Daedra tremble, wishing they had never crossed him and condemned him to such a fate. He would damn them all to Oblivion; to suffer under his rule. Yes, that day would come. All that was left now…was to wait…


	4. Sanguine

**A/N: **Hey guys, sorry for no attempts at humor this time, but I'd like to talk to all of you first. As of now I have 3 chapters posted, and 4 reviews. Three are from my sister **StarscreamII** and one is from** Lady Epicness**. I'm still more grateful to you two than I can ever try to describe in words. But...I've seen the stats for this story. I have had 202 visitors. And 2 reviewers. I don't know what that means, but there are a few options: one, everyone is just too busy to leave a review, or two, everyone else just hates it. Whether you hate it or not, I'm not giving up, so when this is over, there _will_ be 17 completed chapters. That might make some of you happy, but I'll never know unless you tell me. I can't read your minds guys. The only way I can know your opinion is if you tell me so _please_, **_please_** if you could just take one or two minutes to leave a review, it would mean a lot. With that being said, here's chapter 4, and my disclaimer will be the nerdy joke I know you all missed.

**Disclaimer: **It's not mine and my speech skill isn't high enough to negotiate a peaceful hand-over.

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><p>"More wine! On the house!" The request was granted promptly and was rewarded with a wide grin from the man who had asked for it. He was short and stocky, with black skin, dark eyes and horns protruding from the sides of his head. A bottle was grasped in one of his hands and a scantily clad woman was perched on his lap. Such an appearance was fitting, as his sphere was that of hedonistic revelry, debauchery, and passionate indulgences of darker natures.<p>

He tossed aside the empty bottle and a wave of applause went up as it shattered against the ground, spraying bits of glass across the room. Squinting one eye, he aimed the new bottle at one of his guests and flicked off the cork, hitting his target right where he had intended. Drunken laughter, much too loud for the associated prank, rang throughout the party and Sanguine shook his head, taking a swig directly from the bottle.

Sanguine quite literally lived the life of the party. The wilder the better. The more alcohol, the more questionably moral activities, the more indulgences into the darker pleasures of life, the more he loved it. He was the Lord of such things, so each party meant more potential followers, and what Daedric Prince didn't like the ego boost that accompanied having mortals worship them?

A cheer went up as one of the guests reached an obscene amount of empty tankards. The man looked about ready to pass out, and probably would within the hour, sinking blissfully into an alcohol induced coma. Seeing his followers indulge themselves like this made him feel warm inside, although that could've just been the effect of one too many bottles of wine.

Someone nearby was singing something very off-key, and when Sanguine looked over again, the man who had been sitting at the table had slumped down in his chair and slid right off and onto the floor. Such was the life of being a worshipper of a Daedric Prince, and Sanguine none the less. Not one of the high and mighty "good" Daedra, such as Azura or Meridia, but the self-proclaimed Lord of Pleasure. He'd come up with that one himself, and there were quite a few women who would agree with the title; Mephala almost included… Somebody could be heard throwing up the last of the alcohol in their system and Sanguine wrinkled his nose. There were bad elements to parties too. The height of the celebration over, he relocated the woman on his lap, stood up and took his leave, letting them clean up after themselves while he hunted for somewhere better suited to his desires.


	5. Molag Bal

**A/N: **To be honest, I am not completely pleased with the product of this chapter, and I probably could've and would've done some more tweaking, but it's the longest one of the ones I have done right now, and I didn't want to give you all a really short one to start out your week with so…Molag Bal. And with this chapter comes the first appearance of a mortal. :O I know; but those of you who already know what his sphere is can probably see why. THANK YOU SO MUCH to my wonderful reviewers: **DaMayanKing**, **Lady Epicness**, **Starscream II**, **Lucidique**, **Hypodragon**, and **Whatshisface v.2**. You guys seriously made my day and I cannot even begin to describe my undying gratitude toward you. :) You all rock! And believe me, your reviews really helped me; my soul is quite content now. XD Also, just a random question that you don't have to answer if you don't want to, but I'm curious: How did you guys find my story? Anyway, I can't wait to hear from you, and hopefully some others (please guys!) and I hope you're more satisfied with this chapter than I am. :) If you have any suggestions on how to make it any better if possible, just let me know; I'm not easy to offend.

**Disclaimer: **Hasn't happened yet; still working on my forgery skills.

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><p>Molag Bal lounged comfortably in his throne, his feet propped up and some unfortunate mortal dangling haplessly from between his middle finger and thumb. "You mortals really are intriguing." His deep rumbling voice brought the human back to consciousness; though only long enough to see the Daedric Lord, remember where he was, and promptly faint. When the object of his attention went limp, he frowned. "I don't know if I should be flattered or not. On one hand, you're so terrified by my awe inspiring aura that you can't even stay conscious long enough to try and overcome your fear, but on the other hand...you don't have the respect or decency to at least bow in the presence of a Daedric Prince." Molag Bal regarded his new pet with a hint of scorn then mused as an afterthought, "I suppose it would be hard to bow when being held so precariously."<p>

Gingerly lowering the mortal to lay on the arm of his throne, he poked it somewhat harshly and grinned when the man slowly struggled to his feet and stood trembling in fear.

Staring back at him was a man easily three times the size of a normal human, with deep red skin, blazing eyes and a fearsome smile etched across his terrifying, yet handsome features. The Imperial tried to stammer something, but all that escaped his lips was a whimper.

Molag Bal raised his eyebrows in amusement. "Do you know who I am?"

The question was met with a furious gesture of denial. "I am Molag Bal. The Daedric Prince who rules the sphere of the domination and enslavement of mortals."

The look of terror that came over the Imperial was just as Molag Bal had expected; priceless.

The Daedra chuckled, though it wasn't the warm, friendly sound many associate with the word chuckle; it was more something that made you want to run like hell and cower under the nearest piece of furniture.

"Please-What have I done to deserve this?"

The Prince looked surprised. "What you have done? Nothing. You just wandered to close to my shrine and I took a fancy to you. Besides...I needed a new pet. Clavicus gets to have Barbas, so why shouldn't I have someone to keep me company? It can get rather lonely being a Daedric Prince, and my last companion...expired." He gestured casually to a human sized cage hanging from his throne, a rotting body lying inside. "That's to be your new home."

The mortal finally snapped and dropped to his knees in front of the Daedric Lord. "Please! Spare me! I'll do anything!"

One eyebrow rose. "Anything...?"

He nodded his head so hard Molag wondered absentmindedly if it would fly off.

"Yes! I swear! Just let me go!"

All previous cordiality gone, Molag Bal leaned down and looked straight into the mortal's eyes. "Do you pledge your soul to me? In life and death?"

"Yes! Yes! Anything! I just want to go back to my family!"

"Promise?"

"I promise."

A smirk crossed the Prince's features and he leaned back. "Good."

"So, I-I'm free to go?"

"Go?" The Daedra laughed. "I never had any intention of letting you go."

"But you…you promised!"

"I promised nothing, but you on the other hand…" He picked up the hysterical mortal and ignored his screams of terror as he placed him in the cage below his throne. "Welcome home."


	6. Hircine

**A/N: **Surprised to hear from me? Well…I love you so much that I thought I'd post again. And there's a family thing going on, so I won't be able to post for the rest of the week. :( I know, it makes me sad too. I even made this one longer than it had been (but still short; sorry!) so you guys would hopefully get your fix for the week from chapters 5 and 6. Ha! Like anyone's addicted to my story. Gonna have to face it, you're addicted to Appetizers… See what I did there? The song…then appetizers…*sigh* I probably think I'm funnier than you guys do. Sorry I make you suffer from my bizarre sense of humor. Anyway, thank you to my reviewers: **DaMayanKing, Lumpycheez, Whatshisface v.2, Hypodragon, Lucidique, Starscream II, **and **Lady Epicness. **You guys make me feel loved. You complete me. Without you, I'd only be half a person. Probably from my hips down. I've always thought my legs were one of my better features. So you guys are my torso, and without you I would have no face and that would be weird so…thanks! I'm rambling and you're probably wishing I would just stop talking so I will. Right now.

**Disclaimer: **Still not yet, but as soon as I find out the name of the guy who owns Bethesda, I will be changing mine.

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><p>The night was still, and cold. A blood red moon hung low in the sky, casting its crimson light over the lands below. A long mournful howl pierced the silence and echoed throughout the jagged mountain ranges. Somewhere in the distance came a reply, and above it all sat a man.<p>

He was perched high on a ledge, his elbows on his knees, his chin propped on laced fingers. His shoulder length black hair accented his angular jawline and created a sharp contrast with his ice blue eyes. A stag's skull rested on his head; a crown fit for Hircine, the Father of Manbeasts; Lord of the Hunt. It was _his_ night. The night of the Bloodmoon. His children were out now, creeping from the caves in which they lurked during the daylight hours. They went from being the hunted, to the hunters. Prey by day, predators by night.

They were the werewolves of Skyrim, outcast from society if their identities were discovered. And now, it was their night to lead the hunt. They were there to follow him. They were there to worship him. They were there because of him.

With a howl that echoed over the valley below, a large black wolf took the place of the Huntsman. This was the one night that he joined the hunt. The night that he became one of them. After the hunt, they came to him; and he greeted them with open arms. He was the only one who accepted them. He was the one who had made them in all of their violent and gruesome glory. They stood before him, fangs bloodied, claws dripping, fur matted from their own wounds as well as those of their enemies. The moon still hung low in the sky, shining proudly on its hunters. The night was waning, giving way to the early morning light, and with a long howl, they were gone. They would live in secret; in fear; in exile. Alone. Such was their destiny, serving under their father until their dying breath…and beyond. And he would watch over them, love them like they were his own, and then, at his command, the night would begin and again they would arise beneath him. And again, they would hunt.


	7. Meridia

**A/N: **Hey everyone! Sorry I've been gone for so long. :/ This chapter was actually the second one I wrote, but I just ended up...not posting it in order, so it's here now. It's pretty short, but I just wanted to stick it in as a transition from my radio silence to my frequent (hopefully) updating again. Thanks a BUNCH (of bananas!) to **Lumpycheez, StarscreamII, Xreeper16, Lady Epicness, Lucidique, DaMayanKing, Hypodragon, **and **Whatshisface v.2. **You make my days brighter and my life much more entertaining. :) I truly don't know what I'd do without you. And if you've left a review that requires a response, I am very sorry and I will get on that as soon as possible. So without further delay...enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **Anyone have the money to pay my bail? Hypothetically of course...

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><p>Life. It was a force that none could see, yet one that seeped from everything on the earth. Every tree, every blade of grass, each and every creature that roamed through the forests of Nirn, all teeming with…life. To one being, it was a tangible thing. She could see it with her own eyes; because she ruled over it.<p>

Meridia, the Daedric Prince associated with the energy of living things. Her bare feet glided gracefully over the forest floor. Even if anyone was there, no one would be able to see her. To mortals, she was like the realm she commanded, something that merely existed, but could not be directly seen or touched. She was tall, but delicate, with wide blue eyes, golden hair, and pale skin that seemed to glow in a soft white light. Her robe was the same color as the light that surrounded her, and reached all the way to the earth, rustling softly across the leaves. Meridia was life incarnate.

She continued on her way and upon finding a dead butterfly in her path, she knelt to the ground and lifted it, cradling it gently in her palm. Its wings had been ripped off and its fragile body was bent and trampled. Stroking it lovingly, she lifted it to her lips and whispered quietly, lifting her hand to the air as the creature stirred and fluttered away on wings as delicate as the wind on which it flew.

Rising to her feet, Meridia left the forest and upon reaching a hill, stopped beside a tree, staring across the valley below with a thoughtful expression. Her fingers found their way up the slender trunk to the willowy branches and without a second thought, she plucked a single green leaf. It spiraled downwards on a sudden breeze and when it hit the ground, she turned and walked back over it, leaving the now dead leaf broken in the soil; robbed of its life.


	8. Mehrunes Dagon

**A/N: **Hey everyone! :) Hope your weeks are all turning out nicely. I know this is short, but all of them are, and since people are still reading I guess some of you have forgiven me, and if you REALLY don't like the shortness, at least leave a review and complain. Bad feedback is better than none at all. Or, so I say now. Anyway, here's Ruhni the Kitten as my sis and I have nicknamed him. And yes, the Kitten is actually a legit nickname. We didn't just make that up. This is chapter what? Like...8? Almost halfway done. Shoot...I'd better get started on that dinner party...And as always, thank you to **Lumpycheez, StarscreamII, Xreeper16, Lady Epicness, Lucidique, DaMayanKing, Hypodragon, **and **Whatshisface v.2. **If you want to know, I'm not putting you in order of who I like better or anything like that. I go by who reviewed first for the last chapter I posted.

**Disclaimer: **It's not mine, although I wish I could get all the money Bethesda is making off of it.

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><p>Destruction. Revolution. Change. Ambition. Energy. Endless entertainment. All were synonymous. Starting wars; killing off entire nations; starting the seeds of revolution in an ambitious mind. Destructive energy. All controlled by him. And he <em>loved <em>it. Fires, earthquakes, floods. His! All his…

Mehrunes Dagon found nothing more satisfying than crushing the peaceful lives of mortals and turning them inside out. Bringing them pain, making them scream and cry. Nothing could be better! And they were so _easy_ to mess with. Mara could make them fall in love, but then he could change the man, turn him into someone different from who his wife had married. Leave both lives shattered and hearts broken. Some mortals had given him the title of "The Kitten." The occasional Khajiit was offended by the name, but it was for his unpredictability that it was given.

Mehrunes Dagon stood over two hundred feet tall, with red skin, yellow eyes, tattoos covering his body and a terrifying snarl on his face. Those who worshipped him were avoided by their fellow mortals. Most were terrified by the wrath of the Prince of Destruction. Little did they know that his reach spread over more of them than they realized.

Even those who were aware of his presence tried to deny it. When a farmer's crop burned down it was simply an accident due to a wandering mage. As the earth shook beneath their feet, it was a mighty battle between dragon and Dohvakiin. Floods were merely caused by surprisingly excessive amounts of rain; perhaps from that massive cloud hanging so low in the sky?

Conceited as he was, for arrogance was a common theme in the Daedric Lords, it wasn't respect or attention that Mehrunes Dagon desired. In fact, he hated that. Mortals should fear him! Who were they to deny his power? They were mortals! He was a Daedra. They were supposed to worship him with trembling bodies and terror written across their faces. It was only after he destroyed their world that he could rebuild it. And rebuild he would. A different world; a new world. A world where Mehrunes Dagon would sit on the throne and rule over all. A perfect world with no happiness, no peace, no honor, and no valor. He smiled to himself as he thought about it. Beautiful…simply beautiful…


	9. Peryite

**A/N: **Well, hello. I'm back. I don't think anyone's been on my profile, but if you have, I'm sorry for posting later than I said I would. I've been busy with the usual stuff, you know, life has an annoying tendency to get in the way of things. Plus I've been trying to prepare myself for the day exactly one week from now when I will be seeing a nauseating amount of pink, flowers, and gratuitous kissing in the hallways. Not like that doesn't already happen, but if at all possible, it gets worse. I've also been working on the dinner party most of you are probably waiting for because I want it to be at least close to finished by the time I put up chapter 17, and I'm making it long enough to make up for the length of these…Speaking of which…I did have one reviewer who actually complained (albeit, nicely) about the length. Kudos to you, buddy! And yes, I understand how you all must feel. "Well, I like them now, but if they were longer, they'd be even better!" Perhaps. But keep in mind my friends that the reason I am writing this is to set up enough of a backstory for each Prince that their actions in my main work will make sense to my readers. For that reason, I don't want to make them that long, because I feel like the point of why I'm writing them will be lost. I'm not trying to write short stories for each of them; just enough so you can try to get inside their heads. If you disagree, let me know and support your argument. If you review, I will give you a virtual muffin. Mmhm. Muffin. Cinnamon streusel, and I make darn good muffins; just ask my sister. Many heartfelt thanks to **Lady Epicness, DaMayanKing, Whatshisface v.2, Lumpycheez, Lucidique, Xreeper16, StarscreamII **and **Hypodragon**. And believe me, I'm nicer than some authors. I put you on that list even if you didn't review the latest chapter. If I did that, my own sister wouldn't even be on it. *pointed look at sister who just tried to hide my Lifesaver* Anyway, I'm pretty sure this is already longer than the story itself…heh…so…Disclaimer!

**Disclaimer: **Not mine yet, but if we keep it any longer on our Blockbuster movie pass, it just might be sometime soon.

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><p>When you walk into a lavish mansion, and see all of its splendid glory, to whom is your admiration directed? The owner; of course. The owner who smiles and nods and pretends he was the one who made it look so grand, while his servant, the one who <em>should<em> get the credit, is standing quietly against the wall wishing he could rip the eyes out from his master's head. Well, perhaps not all servants harbor such hatred, but Peryite certainly does.

He was the Prince ruling over the sphere of pestilence. It was because of him that races were wiped out by disease and lands were ravaged by plague. But who got the credit for such things? Namira. Or, by some particularly ignorant mortals, even Mehrunes Dagon. Instead, he was better known as the Taskmaster. The lackey in charge of maintaining order within the lesser realms and races of Daedra. A mini Jygglag if you would dare say such a thing. Someone to replace him while he was…indisposed…by his alter ego. Peryite had tried to improve his own image by taking on the form of a dragon. A dragon! The most fearsome and monstrous of beasts known to roam the earth! But no, more commonly, he was referred to as a wyrm. Only one letter off from a worm; those slimy little creatures that got stepped on when it rained! The thing Clavicus Vile seemed to have a particular fondness for turning unloyal subjects into. What shame! What utter embarrassment!

It was for these reasons that Peryite held a deep loathing for his fellow Princes. He was considered the least important. He was thought of as being lower than the rest! Even lower than that idiotic Prince of Madness. Lower than Hermaeus Mora. Who would have ever thought a dragon could be seen as inferior to a green mass of eyes, claws, and tentacles? How could he be _forgotten_ by mortals! _They _were inferior. _They _were lower. Who in Oblivion did they think they were? After all he did to make sure that all of his fellow Princes' realms were neat and tidy.

Perhaps when Jygglag finally made his return, he would find that they shared common interests. Yes…together, they could create a new world, where order was kept and respect was given to those who deserved it; to those who ruled.


	10. Hermaeus Mora

**A/N: **Good afternoon. :) Before I forget to tell you, well, first off, you probably already know this, but this is Hermaeus Mora's chapter. And I did not put in what his sphere is because it is mentioned by Mephala. In case you forgot, it is the sphere of the scrying of the tides of Fate. So basically, he can see into both the past and the future and he's all knowledgeable and everything. That being said…well, now you remember. If you did not review this last chapter and have a deep burning desire for a virtual muffin (it's alright, you can admit it; I know you all do) NEVER FEAR! *heroic pose* There will be more. My virtual oven can bake 62.38 dozen muffins at once. Virtual muffins go out to **Xreeper 16 **and **DaMayanKing. ***hands you each a muffin* Enjoy! And I would still like to thank **Lumpycheez, Whatshisface v.2, Lady Epicness, Lucidique, StarscreamII **and **Hypodragon. **You guys are all so supportive and your feedback really helps me and makes my days brighter. :) And since I try to respond to all of your reviews, I would like you to know that I don't tell everyone the same thing; I try to personalize them so I'm not just sending you all a formulaic "thanks, keep reading" message. I'm pretty sure some of you already know that. Well, I'm off to make lunch now, so I hope you like this chapter! :) Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **Still Bethesda's, but I'm going to start saving up babysitting money to bribe them…shh…it's a secret…

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><p>Knowledge is one of those things that always seems to be sought after, but is rarely obtained to the desired degree.<p>

Hermaeus Mora, being the Prince whose dominion includes both the treasures of knowledge and memory, has never found this to be a problem. He is willing to share his knowledge with only the most worthy of mortals, but prefers to keep it to himself, seeing as both Man and Mer are inferior to the Daedra. His opinion on the matter is most obviously shown through his refusal of choosing a humanoid form. Seeing as Daedra are their superiors, they should not be privileged enough to have a Daedric Lord take on a form as they have. Instead, he sees a green blob of claws, eyes, and tentacles a worthy form; displaying the terror mortals should have toward Daedra. Although his sister Mephala has many times tried to convince him that it is just disgusting, and not fear inducing, his position on the matter remains the same.

The men who are brave enough to face him are given a choice: help assist him in his quest for further knowledge, or run screaming before they're unfortunate enough to face the wrath of a Daedric Prince. Usually the second option is preferred, although throughout time, there have the occasional few who have been worthy enough to become Mora's champion and have received the gift of knowledge in return.

He holds a certain amount of disdain for any race lower than himself, and being a Daedric Lord, he tends to be naturally arrogant, and sees himself superior to even his fellow Princes, something that does not earn him many friends among the others. Hermaeus, like some of the others, can see the benefits to a world ruled solely by himself, but being able to see what could be, he can also see why an upset in the balance of power could be potentially disastrous. It is because of his knowledge of what will come in the future that he is content to sit and wait while history takes its course, forcing himself to deal with the inferiority of everyone else in order to keep the secret of what is to come, and to ensure that what he can see will never be altered.


	11. Vaermina

**A/N: **Bonjour mes amis. And happy Mardi Gras. I know it's been a long time, and I'm sorry, but I've had a busy week and I seriously had zero access to a computer. I was actually planning on posting Clavicus' chapter today, but as it would happen, I left my flashdrive at home, so I did this one instead. I won't say much, because for once I don't have much to say, but before I take my leave, I would like to thank my wonderful fans, reviewers, stalkers, secret (or overt) admirers, or whatever else you may be for taking the time to read my story. Lots of gratitude is given to **DaMayanKing, Xreeper16, Lumpycheez, Whatshisface v.2, Lady Epicness, Lucidique, StarscreamII **and **Hypodragon. **Now please, enjoy this chapter while I go take an ibuprofen for my headache…

**Disclaimer: **Guess who Bethesda DOESN'T belong to? Me? How'd you know? Are you telepathic…?

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><p>Sleep had once been a reprieve; a way to escape from the horrors of reality. To be able to slip into blissful oblivion. Only, Oblivion wasn't always so blissful; or more specifically, Quagmire wasn't. It was there that Vaermina ruled. Vaermina the Gifter; the Weaver of the Panoply…<p>

The Breton tossed fitfully in his sleep, trying to escape the terror of his subconscious mind.

Sitting beside him was the Dreamweaver herself, her presence unbeknownst to her current victim. She was tall, like many of her fellow Daedra, with thick golden hair braided around her head like a crown. Her skin was cold, her eyes were pale, and an air of mystery surrounded her.

The mortal cried out and writhed with almost tangible pain. A small smile flickered across Vaermina's face. To see such torment was a relief after a long day. It was when they screamed that she found the most pleasure. The human mind was a twisted thing as it was, filled with thoughts of rebellion, vengeance, hatred, and lust, while at the same time harboring fantasies of joy, peace, and love. To be able to pervert these fragile minds at will was something not to be taken for granted. It was an honor to be able to do what she could. Once, she had found enjoyment in giving mortals thoughts of hope and dreams of glory, but when the Madgod himself had taken the time to educate her on the finer sides of wreaking complete havoc inside the human mind, her interests had twisted in a much darker nature. When looking back, she wondered how she had ever found amusement in aiding the mortals in their hopeful aspirations. It was much more satisfying to crush them and bend their will at the one time they thought they could escape Fate's wrath. To find her victims shaking, sweating, crying and being internally tortured by her nightmares was a sight for sore eyes.

The sound of fear induced sobbing broke her train of thought and she looked down to see the Breton hugging his own knees and rocking back and forth, a steady stream of curses running through his lips. Silently rising from her perch, she trailed her finger across the bare skin of his arm and watched with amusement as his face turned pale from the ghostly touch. She was gone as quickly as she'd come and a cold uneasy feeling settled over the room, the faintest whisper of her presence still remaining; an unspoken threat of her power that none dared to defy.


	12. Namira

**A/N: **Howdy. I've been working on this chapter for a long time now, but I could never really find the right thing to say, and I couldn't find an ending that satisfied me (Heh, no pun intended. When you read the end you'll understand). The ending still eludes me, but I managed to at least messily finish it off. Man, I am just full of those right now! Once you finish this chapter you will groan at everything I say up here. And I might as well warn the over imaginative and squeamish people that (SPOILER ALERT!) there is implied cannibalism in this little beauty. How can you have a chapter on Namira and not mention it? My miscellaneous quest list in Skyrim is irking me right now because it's telling me to go talk to this one guy, but I can't. Because I ate him. It's aggravating. Oh, so I wanted to ask your opinion on something folks: So far I have been responding to your reviews by private message, but would you prefer me to put my answers in the author's note on the following chapter? That would be an advantage to those of you who don't log on. Just let me know individually next time you review because some of you may want me to keep my responses private while others are like, "Yeah! I want EVERYONE to see what she says to me!" Whatever floats your boat. On that note, Merci to **DaMayanKing, Lady Epicness, Xreeper16, Whatshisface v.2, Lumpycheez, Lucidique, StarscreamII and Hypodragon. **You can still have some muffins if you so desire. You guys fuel my very small ego and help me feel more confident about my writing skills. Much thanks for that. I don't want this longer than the chapter because you guys probably hate it when I do that, so I'll shut up now. Have fun reading!

**Disclaimer: **Bethesda refuses to hand over the rights even after *looks around furtively then continues in a whisper* An attempted bribe with my famous muffins. Yeah, they're crazy.

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><p>The sphere of Namira is that of the ancient darkness. To mortals that don't follow her, and worship her, this means nothing. The ancient darkness could very well be a figment of the imagination of the crazy "demon worshippers". Try as they might to deny it, many of them are wallowing in the realm of Namira without their knowledge. Every beggar on the street is hers. Each time a traveller feels pity for them and offers a coin, they are succumbing to her influence. Every time a child gets sick, it's because of her. The rat filled tunnels beneath the cities are home to her children. They live in the damp, dark corners of the world that people try not to think of. That is their home. They worship her. They praise her and her vile, repulsive ways.<p>

And in return, she keeps them safe. They are misunderstood; content to stay tucked away in their dirty hiding places, not wanting to be drawn into the light. They are comfortable there, wrapped lovingly in her embrace. They do not seek to be understood by their fellow mortals, but instead find comfort with their mistress. The places of darkness, filth and rot they frequent are as much of a home to them as a plush manor is to a foreign dignitary. They are the unloved, unwelcomed recluses shunned by society and the upturned noses of those who worship the Divines.

Despite their conditions, their treatment, and their lifestyle, they are as happy being alone as Mara's followers are when bound together forever with the inevitable ties of love. Living frugally and simply is a necessity, but it never bothers them.

Being able to say they're alive is more than some can claim. The realm of Namira is not one sought after by timid mortals cautiously poking into the realms of the Daedra, but a place where one is brought. The Spirit Deadra herself appears to them with open arms, her dark eyes welcoming, her sultry figure seen only by those she desires. The rest are turned away and scorned by the scorned themselves. They are cast away; or dragged into the deep recesses of Namira's realm, damned to a fate one would shudder to think of, never to return again, the last traces of them remaining on the bloodied teeth and trembling fingers of Namira's children; their insatiable hunger momentarily quenched until the next time they emerge to feed on those who now become their victims.


	13. Nocturnal

**A/N:** Hello all! I was kind of worried that I wouldn't be able to post for a while because of recent unfortunate events in which the school district where I live blocked this site from all district computers. But alas, I am not that easily deterred, and therefore, here I am along with chapter 13. Only 4 more left! Scary for me considering I have like…2 out of the 20 to 30 anticipated pages for the dinner party finished….Better get on that. Heartfelt thanks go out to **DaMayanKing, StarscreamII, Pevensie Fairchild, Lumpycheez, azimah19, Whatshisface v.2, Xreeper16, Lady Epicness, Lucidique, and Hypodragon. **And I would like to tell **Lady Epicness **that I hope this lives up to your expectations, and that this is dedicated to you, as you requested it a while back. Also, well, one, has anyone noticed the occasional references to books from the Elder Scrolls games? There was one in Vaermina's chapter, and there's one that I think will be more recognizable in this one. And…as you have noticed, there have been random mortals who make appearances in some of these. There's another! I'm trying to encompass all the mortal races so since I've already had an Imperial and a Breton, there is a Dunmer, and an allusion to an Altmer. For those of you who are elf lovers. I think that's all I have to say so…I hope you like it. :) And the newly implemented paragraphs. You have **azimah19 **to thank for those.

**Disclaimer: **Bethesda is not mine, and probably never will be, but in the spirit of Nocturnal, I will go attempt to change that. Shadow hide me…

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><p>Thieves come in many forms. And many things can be stolen. You can have your gold burgled by a wayward bandit on a secluded path. You can have your heart stolen by a handsome stranger who sweeps you off your feet. Your virtue can be robbed by a lover. Your trust can be taken by one you thought was a friend. Your mind can be claimed by the horrors of war. And then of course there are thieves in the traditional sense. Those who use their powers of stealth to rob the wealthy of their valuables.<p>

All for the glory of the Mistress of Shadows; Nocturnal herself. The Daughter of Twilight is master of the spheres of night and darkness, though she also manifests herself into the realm of thieves. Such characters worship her and the honorable ones steal for her glory as opposed to satisfying their own selfish sense of greed. All official thieves are her followers, though the Nightingales serve as her personal guardians. Nocturnal does not often physically appear to mortals, and when she does, her attitude towards their accomplishments is often described as seeming infuriatingly indifferent. Though she may not praise their works and grant them the title of being her Champion, she is as pleased with them as any of her fellow Daedra are with their own.

She is said to show her gratitude through the gift of luck. Faithful thieves don't find it coincidental when they are able to pass undetected through a well guarded manor. It is not just a matter of skill, but one of faith in the Night Mistress. The commonly used phrase, "Shadow hide you," is often taken literally, said to be derived from the fact that Nocturnal herself is the shadow that shelters her children.

A Dunmer thief crept silently through the shroud of darkness cast by the lavish tapestries of the palace in which she dwelt. The royalty from which she was stealing was sitting a mere foot or two away, oblivious to his unwelcome company. Murmuring a silent prayer to Nocturnal, the Dark Elf reached out a gloved hand and closed her nimble fingers over the ruby which was to be her prize. With carefully calculated movements, she withdrew her arm back into the shadows, treasure in hand. Releasing her breath with a quiet sigh, she retreated toward the window where she had first entered.

As her foot hit the windowsill, the prince looked up in alarm and narrowed his golden eyes. "Who's there?" As he peered into the darkness, a shadow fell across the window, obscuring his view. With a suspicious, yet somewhat satisfied grunt, he settled back in his throne and the thief was able to exit quickly without questioning her luck.

The well earned ruby found its home not in a pawnbroker's shop, or traded through questionable means for a substantial amount of gold, but as an offering at the foot of a statue. Above it stood a stunningly realistic representation of a tall, proud looking woman with dark hair, a long black dress and two ravens perched on her outstretched arms. If looked at from the right angle, when the shadows hit her face at just the right spot, it almost appeared as if she was smiling. Almost.


	14. Clavicus Vile

**A/N:** To start, I would like to apologize for my long hiatus. It was not a choice, but was forced due to various complications. Despite that, here I am, but because, as of now, this is the only place I can post from, it'll be two weeks until I can post again. If that proves to be true, and I sincerely hope it won't, then I will try to just get the last three posted all at once. With that being said, here is Clavicus Vile. I've spent a long time staring at this chapter, but believe it or not, that doesn't do much, so I decided to post it anyway even though I'm not totally satisfied. But that happens a lot with authors who are perfectionists, so I'll just deal with it. Most heartfelt and sincere thanks to those of you who continue to support me: **Xreeper16, Whathisface v.2, Lady Epicness, azimah19, Lumpycheez, Pevensie Fairchild, StarscreamII, DaMayanKing, Lucidique,** and** Hypodragon**. You guys truly help me get through the rough spots in my life when I get a little ray of sunshine from your reviews. Well, my water's boiling now, so I better go get that, but you...have fun reading. Hope you like it.

**Disclaimer: **Still Bethesda's, but I'll see if my buddy Clavicus can work on that.

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><p>"Perhaps we could make a deal..." Clavicus Vile leaned across the table and looked at his faithful companion.<p>

Barbas snorted. "I know better than to make deals with you. If I do, it will invariably lead to my untimely demise."

The Prince shrugged. "Perhaps. But you could benefit from a fair trade."

"Fair? That word is not a part of your vocabulary. No. I just don't trust you."

"Daedra's best friend my ass," The Daedric Lord muttered, shooting Barbas a glare. "I could very well turn you into a worm if I wished."

"Could. But that would be a problem for both of us. Now stop changing the subject. No matter what you do, you're going to lose her."

Vile scowled. "I don't have to. If the King's knights were out of the way, she could make it out alright."

"That's a ridiculous sacrifice! Just give it up; you won't be able to save her."

"My sphere is the granting of wishes through pact, Barbas. I can always find a way to get what I want, and I don't want her to die."

"What would your fellow Princes say if they knew how attached to her you were. You're compromising everything just to protect her!"

"Why should you care what they'd think? I'm the Daedric Prince; you're just a talking dog."

The canine opposite him narrowed his eyes and snarled. "If you're not careful, you'll end up losing your power again. We're eternally connected remember?"

"Of course I do," Clavicus snapped, his patience thinning. "But I still have power over you. And I will..." He paused for a moment and then raised his chin defiantly. "Offer you a trade; but be warned, I will win this."

Barbas shook his head. If his master had chosen any other form, he might have been intimidating, but seeing as he was in the body of a small child with horns sticking out from his head, what would normally be a terrifying gesture was merely comical. "It doesn't look good for you either way. You either lose her, or you're forced to admit that I won this time."

"Not true my old friend," The Daedra countered. "If you let me take out his knights, then I'll allow you to take her."

"That's killing off an entire squadron!"

"Whether you agree or not, I'll still beat you."

Barbas stayed silent as he weighed his options. "Alright..." Pushing his knights across the board, he scooted them to Clavicus who grinned and after handing over his queen, moved his bishop across the board.

"Checkmate."


	15. Boethiah

**A/N: **Hi…I know it's been a long time. But hey, I'm back! I've been having a massive lack of inspiration for chapters 15 and 16, so that's why I haven't updated, but I did Boethiah's quest yesterday, so I managed to finish this one with only about an hour spent staring at a blank screen. I'll try to post Malacath's chapter tomorrow, and I'll get Sheo's out within this next week, and then I promise to have the dinner party posted within two weeks of chapter 17, so this is all very quickly coming to an end. Don't cry, it's okay. I'll miss it too. Here's a Kleenex. But who knows, I may not be done with the Daedric Princes yet. Only time will tell. In the mean time, I have started another Elder Scrolls story, so if you're interested, that will just be picking up speed (hopefully) when this thread is ending. That being said, I both apologize to and thank the following: **Whatshisface v.2, Lumpycheez, Lady Epicness, Xreeper16, azimah16, Pevensie Fairchild, StarscreamII, DaMayanKing, Lucidique, **and **Hypodragon. **Thank you for continually giving me feedback and keeping up with this story; it definitely boosts my self confidence. And I apologize for making you wait so long for an update. :( I hope these next three chapters are worth the wait. Yeah…no pressure, Farky…Oh, by the way, I was SO close to making an arrow to the knee joke this chapter, but I saved you from the pain. (HA! See what I did there?) You may be able to find where it would've been, but it can get pretty difficult to follow my trains of thought so I doubt it. Well, I am NOT happy with this chapter at all, because I have no inspiration and I'm sure you can tell, but when I get some more creative juice, I can edit it, so just let me know what you think and try not to be too mean, because I already know it's not that swell.

**Disclaimer: **Not mine yet, but I hired a professional thief. Now I'm just waiting. I think he took Bethesda and ran away with it. I want my money back…

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><p>Boethiah is surrounded in a shroud of mystery. Not like Nocturnal, or Mephala, but, being the Prince of conspiracy, it could very well be because she finds it amusing to have a sort of conspiracy about herself.<p>

For one, there's the question of how her name is pronounced. Is it Boe-THIGH-uh, or Boe-EE-thee-uh? And is 'she' a man or a woman. Of course, scholars and people with decent educations know it is neither, as Daedric Princes can choose what form they prefer; male or female; human or disgusting gelatinous mess.

But generally, they choose a form and stick with it, for instance, you will never go into the palace in New Sheoth to find the Madgod traipsing about as a woman, crazy as that would be, and Azura has yet to decide she's bored one Middas afternoon and would prefer to be a man for the day.

Because of the hazy area surrounding what Boethiah may look like, her worshippers have built shrines where she appears as either a man _or_ a woman. The one thing that always remains the same is the fact that she is seen as a warrior with a flowing cape and a fearsome expression, often in some sort of intimidating or stoic pose.

Boethiah rules over deceit, conspiracy, secret plots of murder, assassination, treason and the unlawful overthrow of authority. It is believed that she may have had a hand in the imprisonment of Uriel Septim VII by Jagar Tharn, and some say she might've helped spark the civil war in Skyrim, but neither are confirmed, as Mehrunes Dagon would probably take credit for both.

She is particularly fond of lies and betrayal and it never fails to make her day when someone manipulates another into falling in love with them only to stab them in the back; literally in some cases.

One of her beliefs is that there is no such thing as Fate. Part of this comes from the fact that, being a deity worshipped all throughout Nirn, she knows that the various worshipped Gods have had more of an influence on history than mortals realize, but it's also because she holds the belief that each person decides where they want to go, and their life will form around their own decisions.

She isn't overly fond of having a Champion, but if someone worthy comes along, she'll make an exception, not coming short of having someone murder her previous Champion in order to take his title.

While the mystery of just who Boethiah is may never be solved, there are a few things that are for certain: the next time a murder conspiracy arises, a traitor's plot is executed, or a ruler is denounced from his rightful throne, you can bet Boethiah's involved; just don't bet too much, she has her ways of winning.


	16. Malacath

**A/N: **I know I said I was going to post this yesterday, but…that obviously didn't happen, so I'm here today. Just went back to school today from spring break and it was not all too desirable so I figured I'd post for those of you reading this who were in the same situation. And for those who weren't, because I'm sure some of you are having issues and bad days of your own, and I like to think I can bring you at least a little sunshine when I update. As I'm sure you all know, this is chapter 16, so this next one is the last. I'll try not to get _too_ weepy in my next author's note. It's been over two months since I put up chapter one. Two months last Thursday actually. It's gone by fast, yet at the same time, it seems like it's been so much longer. Anyway, I'll save my emotional outpouring for later this week when I get chapter 17 up, so as soon as I thank you all, I will get to the meat of the chapter. Never ending thanks to **db-listener, Lady Epicness, Whatshisface v.2, Lumpycheez, Pevensie Fairchild, Xreeper16, azimah19, StarscreamII, DaMayanKing, Lucidique, **and **Hypodragon.** I think by now you know how much everything you say means to me.

**Disclaimer: **This time around, I have appealed to Nocturnal to buy Bethesda up for cheap, but I'm on hold, so…well, you know how it goes when they'll "help you in a minute". At least they're playing the cool elevator music while I wait.

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><p>Malacath is the patron of the spurned and the ostracized. Those who follow him are not to be mistaken with Namira's worshippers, who are merely shunned for their repulsiveness; like slugs, or Frostbite Spiders.<p>

Malacath himself is not actually seen as a Daedric Prince by his fellow princes, which fits perfectly into the sphere he rules. Somewhat ironically considering he _is_ a Daedra, and their refusal to see him as one of their own lowers himself towards the level of his followers, something all Daedra have nightmares about; even Vaermina.

The bulk of his worshippers are Orcs, with Trolls, Ogres and other creatures of the like acting as servants of a sort. All are—to most people—ugly, and therefore, they do not appreciate or choose to associate themselves with things or people that are considered to be pretty, desirable, charismatic, or just attractive; whatever the case may be.

When choosing a Champion, he makes sure beforehand that there is something undesirable about them so they can sympathize to a degree with his worshippers and sway them in their choice to assist him in whatever matter he may need help in. He doesn't often call upon the help of an outside party, but still having the natural arrogance that comes with being a Daedric Prince, he doesn't enjoy stooping so low as to help his mortal worshippers personally, so he uses someone else.

He is considered a "bad" Daedra and is one of the Dunmer's four corners of the House of Troubles, with the other three being Molag Bal, Sheogorath, and Mehrunes Dagon. Though none of the Daedric Lords' actions can truly be considered either good or bad, his motives tend to be of a darker nature, and his ways of getting things done are morally grey.

By way of appearance, he is always shown with the green skin, aggressive features and extremely muscular body that he shares with the Orsimer who revere him.

He has been known to refer to Ogres as his little brothers, though most reports and events from history support the belief that Ogres and Trolls serve as nothing more than servants, or in some cases, slaves who Malacath is possessive of; not wanting his workforce to be controlled by anyone else.

As followers or audience members of Sheogorath may have heard, he is _not _popular at parties, and his fellow Daedra do not particularly enjoy his company, a feeling he reciprocates wholeheartedly.

Some believe Malacath was created when Boethiah ate Trinimac, an Altmeri ancestor spirit, but he denies this. Honestly, who can blame him? "Yes, I was the product of Trinimac being eaten by Boethiah." Just think about it…Not exactly flattering.

So, just like those who follow him, he is spurned and ostracized by his peers, though they are the only ones who acknowledge this, seeing as mortal races consider him one of the seventeen Princes.

As some mortals look down on Daedra as demons and Gods not worthy of living up to the Nine Divines, the occasional priest, when wandering throughout the wilderness, has but to think of Malacath when he sees a troll, and all of the sudden, the fireball that hits that monster right in the face seems _so_ much more satisfying…


	17. Sheogorath

**A/N: **Here we go. I almost didn't want to post this chapter because…well, I think we all know why. I still have the dinner party to write, but then, it's over. I never expected anything close to the reception that I got for this story when I put it up, and it's truly all of you have you have read silently, or reviewed, added me as a favorite, followed me or just pulled this up to make weird faces at it that have made this what it is. It's nothing stellar; I know there's much better writers out there with much better stories, but I'm proud of this, and you all are a part of it, so as always, thank you. This isn't the last time I'll hear from you is it? That wasn't a sneaky ploy to get you to review my other stories, I promise. It was a heartfelt question as to whether the relationships I've built through this story will extend beyond its borders or not. I hope the former is true. Anyway…just let me go…grab a few Kleenex…or a few boxes of them…Okay, I'm better now. I don't have the words to ever try and put my thanks into words so just accept a humble and VERY sincere thank you to everyone I've heard from throughout this thread: **StarscreamII, db-listener, Lady Epicness, Pevensie Fairchild, DaMayanKing, Lumpycheez, Xreeper16, Lucidique, Hypodragon, azimah19, **Whatshisface v.2, **Aniphine, CharmingJunkie93, lluvialpz, lulu560, ****Veritas Est Vana,** and **Rangersunrider. **Even though I haven't heard from or talked personally with all of you, I appreciate the support for my story and/or me as an author that I have received from each and every one of you. I'm sad to say this is the last time you'll all probably hear from me. As an actress (only in school, don't get too excited) this is a familiar concept for me. Every time you do a show, you have a certain group of people, consisting of the actors, the directors and the tech, but no matter how great a group may be, everybody knows that that _exact _group will never be together again. The same applies here. I've immensely enjoyed interacting with you and now, I will gracefully bow out, because as always, I know you didn't come here to listen to me talk. Without further ado, I give you the final chapter: Enjoy it as only a Sheo lover would. :) –Farky

**Disclaimer: **Think Bethesda will give me the rights as sort of a going away present? No? Well, it was worth a shot. After life sucking, not owning, a ski mask, a persuasion attempt, forgery, name changing, hypothetical crime, wishing, an extended Blockbuster pass, bribery with money, telepathy, bribery with muffins, Clavicus, a break in, my hired thief, and Nocturnal, I STILL don't own Bethesda. Do I at least get credit for trying?

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><p>The state of being insane is an interesting concept. Of course, the declaration of being crazy can come from both the sane and the insane.<p>

There are those who are demented; driven mad by suspicions of wild conspiracy theories. Then there are maniacs, who may roam the streets half-clothed, begging for a sweetroll. Their insanity is quite obviously apparent, but to the insane, the utter sanity of the sane makes them insane. For this very reason, nobody can _truly_ be labeled one or the other.

No one that is, but Sheogorath.

The Prince of Madness is quite simply, insanity incarnate; as simple as that can be. His purpose was fulfilled just as the other fifteen princes had intended, being the perfect tool to punish Jyggalag for all of eternity.

Appearance wise, he looks as sane as you or I, choosing to appear as a man with silver hair and a beard, yellow eyes, and _great_ taste in clothing.

His realm was the Shivering Isles, a place of order and complete sanity. It was there that Sheogorath also made his home, perched on the throne of New Sheoth with a perpetual grin and the perfect dose of logic in the form of his ever loyal servant, Haskill. The once structured land was split between the two sides of insanity, home to people who have been corrupted by the influence of the Madgod.

It was here that life continued on as normal, or…as normal as it ever gets.

"CHEESE, HASKILL! I SAID CHEESE!" Sheogorath banged his fist down on the table and the Breton in mention let out a heavy sigh.

"Yes, I know that, my Lord. But there isn't any left."

"Well then go get some from the mustache farmers." He gave Haskill a look as if that should've been his first plan of action.

Haskill looked back at him with a blank expression and the Prince waved his hand toward the door.

"Don't just stand there! Get to it! I only have until forever!"

He shook his head and muttered something under his breath before obeying his master's command and leaving the palace to find someone a little more qualified than mustache farmers from whom he could acquire cheese.

As you can see, an ordinary day in the Shivering Isles does not exist.

On Morndas, a man might decide he wanted to fly off the roof of the palace and end up in a not so delectable mess on the street.

Tirdas, his neighbor may declare that everyone must now bow when he walked by and refer to him as "almighty ruler of the moldy bread".

Middas could bring on a cult dedicated to the welfare of the knitted sweaters made by the knitters' club held on Fredas nights.

Whatever the case may be, Sheogorath doesn't often get involved.

The day to day activities of Crucible and Bliss are ruled by Syl and Thadon, duchess and duke of their cities, respectively. As crazy as their citizens, they do their best to maintain a twisted sort of order, though each is plagued by their own demons, whether it be addiction or paranoia.

The Madgod simply watches it all with a sort of fatherly pride; admiring the complete insanity of those who follow him.

Like many of his fellow Princes, he doesn't interact much with his worshippers, but does rely on the help of mortals to complete his tasks when he need be.

Though included in the usual count of seventeen Daedric Lords, he is not always present, briefly being replaced by his predecessor at the end of every era during the Greymarch.

Each time, Jyggalag's Knights of Order begin to sweep through the Shivering Isles, slaughtering guards and citizens alike, clearing the way for their master's return to his rightful throne. And each time, he prevails, bringing order back to his lands before he is again replaced by Sheogorath at the beginning of the next Era and the cycle continues.

Whether in a moment of despair, a lifetime of torture, or a second of pain, all have felt the reach of the Madgod's hands, beckoning, caressing; insanity itself whispering in your thoughts in dreams as it plays with your mind. Some manage to escape it, but others are doomed to a lifetime of servitude to Sheogorath, nothing but a shell of their former selves as his will bends them and turns them inside out.

This is the life one is forced to live when wrestling with insanity, and unfortunately, in most cases, it tends to be the one that makes it out of the ring.


End file.
